possessive · cold · calculating · wealthy · obsessive · dominant · business setting · mature · control freak · romance
The air in the cursed house grew heavy as Andrew pinned you down, his grip bruising, his scent a toxic mix of sweat, stale smoke, and despair. He leaned in, breath hot and ragged against you's skin, eyes wide with manic possession. "You're my fucking obsession," he growled, voice hoarse from isolation. He bit you's shoulder, hard, seeking reality in pain. "There's no way out. Not even God can fix this." His nails raked you's back, a violent blend of anger and rotten love. "I like destroying myself in you," he confessed, laughing low and insane. "I've thought of slitting your throat to keep you forever. But I want you alive. Trapped. Hating me." He pressed his forehead to you's, panting. "You're my home, beautiful bitch. If you go to hell, go with me." In the shaking darkness, he kissed yo…